The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

Leo woke to the last rays of the setting sun. His shirt was missing, but he was under a soft, fluffy blanket. He burrowed into it, vowing to never take blankets for granted again. There was a heavy weight on his legs and, upon investigation, he discovered it to be Michael, curled up like a cat at the other end of the couch. A knock on the door interrupted his pleasant thoughts and reminded him of why they were here in this posh sitting room and not at home in bed. "Leo?" said Mrs. S. "Are you degenerates clothed? I don't want to walk in on something...indecent." Michael opened his eyes and smirked. "Um," Leo said. "Just a minute." At least he was wearing pants. He found his shirt under the couch and struggled to get into it. Michael came up behind him and whispered something in his ear that made Leo choke and stop thinking altogether for a minute. "Come in," he said in a strangled voice. Mrs. S. opened the door and looked around suspiciously. "Feeling better?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. "I got some sleep," Leo said. "Uh huh, I see." She threw a bundle at him. "Put these on. You can't exactly face down the Evil Cult dressed like a carpenter. And don't get distracted," she added, glaring at Michael. "I have something to show you, and we only have an hour before departure." "Yes ma'am," Leo said meekly. He spread the clothes out on the couch to inspect them. There were pants, shirt, a tunic and belt, all in black. And thank the saints, a new cloak. He started to undress but his bandaged fingers couldn't get a good grip on the laces. Michael swatted his hands away. "What did I tell you," he said, waggling a finger in his face, "about doing things for yourself?" He stripped away Leo's clothes and helped him dress with ruthless efficiency that somehow still left the sorcerer breathless. Then he sat him on the couch and gently unwrapped the bandages around his hand. "I got you something," he said. "While you were sleeping." He pulled the poultice out of his bag and slathered it onto his fingers. Then he pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. They were incredibly soft and just fit over his swollen fingers with a minimum of pain. They looked expensive. "Did you steal these?' Leo asked suspiciously. "Wouldn't you like to know," Leo retorted. "Come on, we'd best not keep Mrs. Morals waiting." Mrs. S looked him over critically, then nodded her approval. "Better," she said. "How do you feel?" Leo shrugged, and glanced at Michael. "Not that," she scolded, smacking his shoulder. "Magically. Anything coming back?" "Oh," Leo said. "I don't...really want to find out." "Hmph," Mrs. S. said. "Follow me." Two guards fell in behind them, which made him nervous. His nervousness increased when they started down a narrow spiral staircase lit only by torches. "Where are we going?" "You'll see." "If this is going to end in another dungeon--" "Not a dungeon, you moron. A storeroom." She pushed the door open and stepped back. "There." Leo look anxiously at her, then Michael, then stepped into the room. It was full of dusty chests, with a pile of what looked like firewood heaped in the corner. "I don't understand. What is all this?" "It's yours," the druid said, following him in. "Or, it belonged to the sorcerers. After they were captured and imprisoned, all their personal possessions were put here. We didn't know if there was anything dangerous, or valuable. As far as I know, it hasn't been touched in two decades. I thought there might be something you can use." The chests held hats and cloaks, belts and gloves, jewelry and purses. Leo touched each item gently, almost reverently, wishing he could remember the names and faces of his owners. He didn't even know if he would recognize his own things if he saw them. His memories of enslavement were as ragged and full of holes as a moth-eaten coat. He left the chests and went to look at the pile of sticks. What he had mistaken for firewood was a pile of staves. Each one was meticulously carved with spell work and embedded with enchanted crystals. Each unique to its user, each valuable beyond measure to the one who wielded it. Leo dug through the pile frantically, not knowing what he was looking for, but knowing that he would know it when he found it and...there. One of the staves glowed when he touched it. The amethyst on top lit with an otherworldly purple light that spread to all the runes carved alone the side. Leo felt a rush like too much wine, and the pressure in the room increased. He hardly dared breathe as he eased it out of the pile. Both Michael and Sylvia took a step back at the sight of it. Words flowed out of him in a language he did not know, as if someone else was speaking. Lightning crackled about their heads and thunder crashed. The torches flickered as if in a gale wind. Someone was shouting but he couldn't hear them over the roaring in his ears. He suspected this might be dangerous, but he couldn't stop this now if he tried. He held the staff over his head and his voice boomed with enchantment as he finished chanting. Every torch in the palace winked out. Leo blinked against the darkness. He heard muttered cursing and the striking of flint. The pressure had abated, and the amethyst glow had dimmed to be barely perceptible. He was on his knees in the middle of the storeroom. Whoever was arguing with the flint finally succeeded, and a torch flared in the darkness, revealing Michael, Mrs. S. and the guards shaken but unhurt. "What," Michael said tersely, "was that." "I don't know," Leo lied. "I think...I think this one is mine." He tried a weak smile. No one smiled back. "Leo," Sylvia said. "Is there something you should tell us?" "Well," Leo glanced nervously at the staff. "I think my magic might be coming back." "Good," Michael said in relief. "Let's go smite some evil blood-magic users and get the druids back so we can be done with this whole mess." Sylvia gave Leo one more suspicious glance, and then led the way out of the storeroom. Michael fell into step beside Leo. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked. "Never better," Leo said, and this time he was telling the truth. His memories were coming back.